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Tuesday morning dawns bright and sunny, and quickly warms into the 70’s. Snookums rose earlier, made the brew, cleaned the parakeet’s cage, walked the dogs and set out on her morning hike around Shirley Loop before I even opened my eyes. Big surprise there. But anyway, I washed the lees of goo the allergies left in my eyes, poured my first cup of coffee for the morning, and padded down to the studio to peek into your world.

I am happy I got the tomato planters up. I made my own this year by boring a larger hole in the bottom of a resin hanging pot, and made plugs out of sphagnum moss to keep the plant from slipping out. Then I inserted the tomato up thru the hole and slid the sphagnum moss plug around it before filling it with my secret starter mix. Then in the top went exactly four petunas to keep the pot cool in summer. I have a drip line with a spray head attached for each planter, and during the brutal summers here, I will mist them four times a day … I am determined to grow tomatoes in the heat. The natives here just chuckle. Crazy damned yankees anyway ….

I got Shookums new edition of Adobe Photoshop® installed on her computer yesterday too. She bought it through amazon.com, but the serial number didn’t work. I was fretting about buying a pirated version, and IM’d them, getting and offshore “tech”. That was four days ago, and finally they sent me a serial number that worked. We hates Adobe. Hates them, we does. Gollum!

Anyway, the morning is abuzz with the sounds of riding mowers, sod tractors, and the occasional concrete truck, and I must be about to fix the flat on the tractor, sharpen the blades on the mower, fill the birdbath, get the drip line running again …

Bleary eyed I stumbled out of bed, retrieved the ever present cellphone from the bedside dock, tripped over joyful dogs who greeted me like I had just returned from Europe, filled my cup with Snookums perfect brew and padded down to my studio to see what has transpired since I shut the PC down last night.

*sip!*

A fast run thru the blogs yields an affirmation of a mates desire to not be a second string player in her life and gives her SO a firm reminder. However, a fellow blogger takes issue with the post and counter attacks.

*sip!*

Another tells of Eloping. Elope … I don’t know why, but I like the way the word rolls off the tongue. Maybe it was because the word is so close to jackalope, a mythical creature, half jack rabbit and half antelope that has reportedly been chronicled along old Route 66. I used to have a postcard with a picture of one that I purchased at a curio stand in Gallup, New Mexico that proves that they exist.

*sip!*

Another chronicles her love of renaissance fairs, and includes a snap of her with a garland in her hair. You can see why she loves them. Or maybe the pic shows that she loves them. Either way! Munch away at a turkey leg and let your mind get a small taste of what it would be like to be ‘Enery the ight ..

*sip!*

And there are tales grand conspiracies complete with cites from one side, and pules on the other of how so many people vilify their candidate.

A picture of Salvia greggii (Autumn sage) reminds us to plant for the wildlife as well as for beauty.

And at home, a budgie next to my PC shrieks and chatters to me to put some sounds on. I should. Parakeets live in very noisy environments, and a too quiet house depresses them. The mutts circulate in and out to greet me and to check up on the one isolated member of their pack, and are reassured by a comment and a pat on the head that I am still a part of this family.

*sip!*

Snookums crashes out of the house with three dogs on a leash for a morning gad-about around Shirley Loop, named after the developer’s wife.

And an applique of a menorah (lampstand) rolled up on the hall table reminds me that it needs to be applied to a wall in the synagogue. Maybe that will be a good project for tomorrow. Snookums is bitc … er … complaining about the pile of brush along the route she drags the trash can out to the road every Wednesday. Maybe I need to cut it up into firewood and pull the remaining limbs to the burn pile before doing work away from home.

*sip!*

And Snooks computer is still on the dining room table where I am re-installing Windows on it, in preparation for setting it up for high end graphics. She was a PhotoShop® maven at a newspaper and high-end print shops, and local congregations are always needing brochures, CD covers and such, so her skills are coveted, and she finds joy in being useful. So got to get that done too.

But for now, there is you, a shrieking budgie next to my ear, a riding mower humming in the distance and a mug of coffee at hand. Life is good.

Bleary eyed I stumbled out of bed, retrieved the ever present cellphone from the bedside dock, tripped over joyful dogs who greeted me like I had just returned from Europe, filled my cup with Snookums perfect brew and padded down to my studio to see what has transpired since I shut the PC down last night.

*sip!*

A fast run thru the blogs yields an affirmation of a mates desire to not be a second string player in her life and gives her SO a firm reminder. However, a fellow blogger takes issue with the post and counter attacks.

*sip!*

Another tells of Eloping. Elope … I don’t know why, but I like the way the word rolls off the tongue. Maybe it was because the word is so close to jackalope, a mythical creature, half jack rabbit and half antelope that has reportedly been chronicled along old Route 66. I used to have a postcard with a picture of one that I purchased at a curio stand in Gallup, New Mexico that proves that they exist.

*sip!*

Another chronicles her love of renaissance fairs, and includes a snap of her with a garland in her hair. You can see why she loves them. Or maybe the pic shows that she loves them. Either way! Munch away at a turkey leg and let your mind get a small taste of what it would be like to be ‘Enery the Eight ..

*sip!*

And there are tales grand conspiracies complete with cites from one side, and pules on the other of how so many people vilify their candidate.

A picture of Salvia greggii (Autumn sage) reminds us to plant for the wildlife as well as for beauty.

And at home, a budgie next to my PC shrieks and chatters to me to put some sounds on. I should. Parakeets live in very noisy environments, and a too quiet house depresses them. The mutts circulate in and out to greet me and to check up on the one isolated member of their pack, and are reassured by a comment and a pat on the head that I am still a part of this family.

*sip!*

Snookums crashes out of the house with three dogs on a leash for a morning gad-about around Shirley Loop, named after the developer’s wife.

And an applique of a menorah (lampstand) rolled up on the hall table reminds me that it needs to be applied to a wall in the synagogue. Maybe that will be a good project for tomorrow. Snookums is bitc … er … complaining about the pile of brush along the route she drags the trash can out to the road every Wednesday. Maybe I need to cut it up into firewood and pull the remaining limbs to the burn pile before doing work away from home.

*sip!*

And Snooks computer is still on the dining room table where I am re-installing Windows on it, in preparation for setting it up for high end graphics. She was a PhotoShop® maven at a newspaper and high-end print shops, and local congregations are always needing brochures, CD covers and such, so her skills are coveted, and she finds joy in being useful. So got to get that done too.

But for now, there is you, a shrieking budgie next to my ear, a riding mower humming in the distance and a mug of coffee at hand. Life is good.

The wind was howling that dark New Mexico night, and we sat huddled in the middle room next to the parlor stove. Granny was putting together a picture puzzle, which was complicated by the feeble light of a kerosene lamp. The men had gone to Colorado to purchase logging supplies. We had just gotten an order for mine timbers from the mine, and they would need to be bringing trees down to the saw mill as soon as spring would let them.

Granny had a single shot .410 shotgun for protection. The homestead sat at the foot of the Sangre-de-Christo Mountains, and mountain lions, coyotes and bobcats were always trying to get into the chicken coop.

Something outside went “crash!” and let out a long creaking moan. Granny grabbed the kerosene lamp and went to the door. I don’t know how to describe a moonless winter night in that area, but it is very, very dark, and Granny couldn’t see a thing.

She shut the door and went back to the puzzle, and had hardly picked up a puzzle tile to try and fit it into the puzzle before a “rawrrrrrrr” sounded outside. Granny went to the door again, but this time she took the shotgun with her. I heard her mumble “mountain lion” as she opened the door.

Rawrrrrrrrrr! Screeeeeeeeeee!

Granny slammed the door shut, and we kids trembled in terror. I had never seen a live mountain lion, but I had read stories about African lions, and I sure didn’t like what I heard.

Granny picked up the kerosene lamp and carried it to the door, and again looked out, and just as quickly slammed the door shut. We were really frightened now, and it didn’t help to see Granny’s jaw tighten as she firmly grabbed the shotgun, opened the door and “Blam!” and slammed it shut again.

“I could see it glaring at me across the road!” she said breathlessly.

Rawrrrrrrrrr! Sreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Went the mountain lion again. Our blood froze and granny reloaded the shotgun, open the door and fired off another shell.

“I think I got him!” she said. “His eyes went out!”

Granny took the shotgun and the lantern and went out, and very shortly returned. “I could see drops of blood on the snow.”

We didn’t hear any more as the night wore on, and we slept a fitful, wary sleep until the first rays of dawn showed through the window shutters. Granny and I got dressed in heavy woolens, she reloaded the shotgun and I picked up the metal fireplace poker, and we cautiously went out to make sure we didn’t have a wounded cat nearby.

The red drops of blood glistened in the snow in the snow next to an old trailer we no longer used. I warily approached the trailer, hoping that the cat wasn’t lying wounded underneath it. Squatting down to look, I didn’t see anything under the trailer, and breathed a sigh of relief. I thought to follow the blood trail to see where the cat went, and went over to the first splatter.

It was then I noticed that the blood had frozen in the snow. Or so I thought. On closer examination, I discovered that Granny had shot the taillights out of the trailer. The tailgate had been blown loose by the wind, and I went over to put it back. “Rawwwwrrrrrrr! It went as rusty bolt turned in it pivot. “Screeeeeeee!” it went as it swung back.

Granny had killed the trailer!

Over the decades, Granny never lived that one down. When the men heard of it, they howled with laughter, and Granny would smile through clenched teeth. I am not sure but what she didn’t get even somehow. She was that way.

So many things are going through my mind today as the noise of the flooring contractor interrupts my morning quiet. But that is OK … at last I will have a bathroom that fits me, and the red oak flooring is going to be much nicer than carpet that was there. Whose idea was it to but carpet in a bathroom? Geesh. Certainly not by anyone who has had to clean one.

So todays thoughts drift to this curious idea of freedom so many people have. I don’t know what it is that makes people think that health care, gun control, wimmens reproducible rights and student loans equate with freedom. We have bastardized the word, and I think it is too already too late for us. But I got mine. It will be up to some future generation to spill the blood of its youth throwing off the yoke of an all-encompassing “Daddy” …

An old friend has reappeared in my life. Odd that they come and go with Mz Muze. But we takes our inspiration where we gets it. Welcome back, C.

The day is a bright yellow and green Spring day, the rains fled, the rye and wildflowers are shooting up faster than I can keep them chopped down to civilized heights. A new character appears in the novel, another is killed off. A new birdbath sits disassembled in the driveway awaiting its installation. A tree branch awaits being cut into next winters firewood.

The coffee is great, but then, it always is. Some things need to stay at a high level of excellence!

Ages ago when people were ruled by the real sun instead of a mechanical sun, people rose with the sun, and retired with the sun. Summertime was production time, the nights were short and the day was long. Wintertime was resting time, the nights were long and the days were mercifully short.

Some linguists became curious about the phrase “between the sleeps” by 16th and 17th Century writers, and rediscovered the obvious. Babies tiny tummies hold a maximum of four hours fuel, and that mommies have been getting up in the morning watches to refuel them since the beginning of time. The main problem is the extra two hour sandwich between the two sleeps that stretches the bed time from eight hours to ten hours, cuts into precious daylight.

But hey! I am retired. Why should I conform to society’s clock? I am discovering a productive time of writing when I arise for that two hours in the night watches. If it was good enough for King David, it is good enough for me.

The rains have rolled away, leaving high thin clouds and drying breezes rustle the leaves. I miss the rains already. I remember reading when I was a child about the digging of the Suez Canal. Many of the native workers had never been around plumbing and had no concept how it worked. In the construction towns, people would leave the faucet running for fear that the water would stop permanently. I am like that with the rains. When they go, I start asking if this is the beginning of a sixth year of drought?

So today’s agenda. See if I can upgrade Snooks computer so she can load the latest edition of PhotoShop™ on it. Move the poorly running cassock air filter into my studio. Install new showerheads in the master bath. Meditate on a new character in a novel I am writing. I think I love her too much and will have to kill her off. Dead.

OK. Evening is here, the pups got their goodies, the parakeet is nagging me for boogie type music, and I haven’t done a damn thing but comment on other blogs. The deal is, I gotta write every day. It don’t matter if it is on the novel, or in the journal, or a snide letter to the editor.

“Thou shalt write of it every day. Each and every day thou shall write of it.”

OK. I writeth of it.

It has been a rainy day. Great and glorious rain. Drizzling rain, pouring in sheets rain, showers, mists. We have been in such a long drought that I have forgotten what a rainy day looks like. Long dormant grasses and wild flowers have sprung up, sere trees are budding with an eye aching green, fields look like they are covered in green velvet. And the smell of wetness pervades all.

And today is a buying day … we picked out woodlike flooring for my studio and the guest bathrooms. The installers will remove the toilets, install the flooring and quarter round and be gone in one day. Who could hope for more?

And I bought new planters for the front porch to screen me as I sit and spy on the neighborhood comings and goings. My house is like the gate house … everyone has to drive by that nosey old man on the corner. Now that summer is here, I can take my morning coffee at sunrise there, and be entertained by the mourning doves lonesome coo, the mocking birds olio, and the cardinals fussing.

There you have it. A chirpy morning blog written close to bedtime. No broody reflections, no morose opinions. Just don’t get used to it.